Yes, she does.

"Oh, yes, because what I truly long for in life is your unbearable, overinflated sense of self-importance. Spare me."

Following the orders of the Harpers led him to a band of misfits in some shadow cursed lands. Said band of misfits added an aberration to their ranks, albeit some reluctantly. The biggest selling point was Connor's affiliation with Jaheira, immunity to most things Far Realm related, and sheer power.

The undead aberration's presence, understandably, was given with mixed results. The githyanki had already threatened him before he got to camp, and some other members are also suspicious solely because Connor is similar in nature to their tentacled captors on the nautiloid. A few folks kept a wide berth when passing him.

One of them who didn't put any resistance to him joining, and instead was amicable to it, was the drow. Minthara. A beautiful woman with darker skin, white hair, and eyes as red as rubies. Her voice was distinct, and contained authority, but had notes of tenderness to it at times depending on who she was addressing.

Desperate to fit in, and to perhaps weasel their way further into the group, the skeleton takes it upon himself to ... set up his space a little closer to Minthara tonight at camp. And by space, it's really just a bag of holding. Connor needs no sleep, therefore needs no tent, and nor does he desire such a commodity.

All he desires is company.

“Yes. Normal sister things. We played a murder game and I won.”

 ❝ MINTHARAAAAAA   !   LET ME DOWN IN AN INSTANT   ! ❞     That woman feared for her dear life, struggling helplessly against being picked up   —   It was no use, in the end. Babette was a lousy opponent when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Little fists battered against the paladin's back, oh what pitiful display of resistance.